


Kreacher Comforts

by rpickman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Blue Balls, Cheating, Cock Worship, F/M, Hate Sex, Hot Tub Sex, Isolation, Kissing, Large Cock, Masturbation, No...I mean literal blue balls, Oral Sex, Peeping, Porn With Plot, Rough Oral Sex, To fit Kreacher's monster dong, Vaginal Sex, cabin fever, extradimensional underwear, mutual verbal abuse, unhealthy master servant relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpickman/pseuds/rpickman
Summary: Cooped up in 12 Grimmauld Place with only the miserable house-elf Kreacher for company, Hermione finds herself subject to unexpected temptations.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Kreacher
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Kreacher Comforts

_This takes place November of 1997 with three notable changes to the series cannon: 1) all characters are a year older (Hermione is 19 at the time, Ron and Harry are both 18). 2) the trio's shelter at 12 Grimmauld Place was never comprimised and 3) Kreacher was never redeemed and remains a bitter, nasty elf._   
  
  
“Mudblood!!”   
Hermione Granger nearly leapt out of her skin when the evil howl ripped through the dank front hall of 12 Grimmauld Place. In her surprise, she dropped the plate she had been holding, and the sandwich which sat atop it, allowing it to shatter on the ground and spilling her freshly made lunch across the grubby floor.   
“Filth! Half-Breed Filth!!” The screaming continued. “Get out of my house! Get out!”   
Hermione heaved a deep sigh, glowering at the portrait that hung (with unfortunate and stubborn permanence) in the entry hall of the decaying mansion. Trapped within the polished brass frame, the portrait of Walburga Black howled and gibbered increasingly hateful epithets at Hermione. If the hateful thing weren’t a two-dimensional mass of mystical pigments, she would probably have rushed at the young witch and attempted to claw her eyes out.   
“Accio Canvas!” Hermione whipped her wand out from the bag at her side, slicing it through the air in a precise arc. These were dark times and she was never far from her wand these days…who knows when it might be needed? With the sound of thick cloth whipping through the air, a heavy canvas sheet flew down the stairs at her summons. With another sharp command and a wave of her wand, it slapped itself over the front of the painting, muffling the bigoted curses. A final spell wrapped the whole thing in thick ropes, keeping the canvas from sliding off.   
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm her jangling nerves. Muted shrieks could still be faintly heard through the canvas but at least the facsimile of the horrible old corpse was no longer driving aural needles through her eardrums. She had left her room upstairs to go down to the basement kitchen to fix herself a simple meal, the same meal that was now decorating the floor, and when she had passed the painting before it had been safely covered. Obviously, the painting didn’t uncover itself, so that left one suspect…   
“Kreacher...” She snarled under her breath.   
“You demanded Kreacher’s presence, false Mistress?” Hermione jumped again, her nerves still on edge from the portrait’s outburst, as the raspy, unpleasant voice spoke up right behind her. “Maybe my clumsy, stupid, foul-blooded Mistress will demand Kreacher clean up the mess she has made?”   
Hermione turned to face the diminutive speaker who peered at her from behind the bathroom doorway, the house-elf Kreacher. The wizened and ancient servant of the Black family stared at her with undisguised hatred. She almost did command him to clean up the shattered plate and spilled food. It was his fault, after all. They were the only inhabitants of 12 Grimmauld Place…no one but Kreacher could have uncovered the portrait. One of the many cruel pranks he used to torment her.   
She took a deep, calming breath as Kreacher glared up at her, his eyes daring her to lose her temper. She didn’t speak at first and instead pointed her wand at the mess on the floor.   
“Reparo!” The ceramic fragments flew together as though drawn by a magnet, the edges fitting themselves together like a jigsaw and melding themselves back into a seamless whole. “Scourgify.” The scattered remains of Hermione’s meal shimmered and rose into the air, dissolving into a collection of glowing soap bubbles before evaporating completely.   
“Accio plate.” Hermione gave Kreacher an arch, level look as the plate flew up into her hand, clean and intact once more. “Kreacher, did you take the covering off of Walburga’s portrait?”   
“A common, filthy mud-blood would normally call her Lady Black.” Kreacher snarled. “Something my false Mistress may wish to keep in mind.”   
“I’m quite happy calling her Walburga…unless you’d prefer more choice terms, like bigoted, dried-up, old shrew.” Hermione snapped, ignoring Kreacher’s hateful glare. “Why did you uncover the painting, Kreacher?”   
Kreacher grinned, baring yellow and misaligned teeth. “Kreacher likes to look at Mistress Walburga and hear her lovely voice. So Kreacher took off the frumpy old sheet.”   
“And you just so happened to do this while I was down in the kitchen?”   
“Foolish to think Kreacher cares where a mudblooded false Mistress is.” The look in his eyes told Hermione that Kreacher was lying and he didn’t particularly care if she knew it. “Did Kreacher do wrong? Is Kreacher to be punished? Poor, poor Kreacher.”    
Hermione had to suppress a snappy retort at Kreacher’s sarcastic tone. Remember, it’s not his fault. He’s been enslaved and abused for six hundred years. Even if he is begging to have his teeth kicked in.   
“Kreacher...I’ve told you several times that I don’t like it when Walburga screams at me, haven’t I? And that I’d prefer if her portrait remains covered?” Hermione spoke slowly, choosing her words very carefully as Kreacher sneered at her.    
“Oh dear...maybe poor foolish Kreacher is confused...is Kreacher’s awful, terrible Mistress ordering him to keep his good, noble Mistress’s portrait covered?” Kreacher scratched his ugly bald head, an expression of exaggerated confusion on his face. “Kreacher would hate that, but of course he will do as he is told. Poor, Poor Kreacher.”   
“Kreacher…” Hermione frowned, rubbing her forehead as she felt a headache starting to come on. “I told you, I won’t give you orders. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a free, independent creature. But I am hoping that you will respect my desire to keep the painting covered. As a courtesy.”    
“So...Kreacher is not being ordered to keep the painting covered?”    
“No, I’m just...asking politely.” Hermione sighed.    
That nasty grin spread over Kreacher’s face once more and he raised one finger into the air. A single blue spark danced on the jagged tip of his nail.    
“Kreacher…” Hermione drew out the name with a note of warning in her voice.    
Kreacher crooked his finger and Hermione could hear the sound of rope rubbing against rope as the house-elf’s magic undid the bindings on the painting.    
“Mudblood! Filthy Mudblood child, tracking her filth into my father’s house!!” The hall echoed with Walburga’s vindictive shrieks the moment the canvas fell from the painting. Hermione had been expecting it but the hateful sound still set her teeth on edge.    
“Obscurio!” She whipped around, pointing her wand at the painting once more. The image of Walburga Black reeled in confusion as a black blindfold appeared over her eyes. Blindness didn’t seem to stop her and she opened her mouth to shout some new invective, but Hermione was faster. “Silencio!”   
The portrait’s face bore an expression of comical confusion as its mouth worked silently. Blind and mute, it began to feel around the interior of its frame, groping for some point of reference.    
Hermione’s frizzy hair bounced as she turned the wand on Kreacher, eyes flashing. She was breathing heavily, weeks of frustration boiling over as dozens of jinxes and curses swam through her head, any number of unpleasant fates she could inflict on the house-elf.    
Kreacher just stared down the length of her wand at her, his eyes sharp and his grin turned into a thin line. He made no move to run or conjure a counterspell.    
“It seems that poor Kreacher has angered his stupid, cow-headed, ugly Mistress. It is only right that Kreacher be punished for it.”    
Hermione’s hand shook, causing the tip of her wand to wobble slightly as her chest heaved with deep, angry breaths. She wanted to turn Kreacher’s nose to a cucumber, or fill his mouth with jumping beans...but she also knew that Kreacher would just accept it as a punishment...as admission that she owned him. She wouldn’t let him force her hand like that.    
Slowly she lowered the wand. Kreacher just smiled and shook his head. “Poor, poor Kreacher, who has such a cowardly, unworthy Mistress.”   
With a snap of his fingers, Kreacher apparated away, back to whatever dark corner of the house he normally hid.    
“Bugger.” Hermione swore under her breath, head pounding as she slowly got her temper back under control. She slid the wand back into her bag and, still toting the freshly repaired plate, headed back towards the stairs to fix herself another sandwich.   
  


****************

  
  
Hermione’s nineteenth birthday had certainly been the worst birthday of her entire life. Of course, it hadn’t been a good year in general, what with the death of Headmaster Dumbledor and she and her friends being forced to flee Hogwarts. But her birthday had felt particularly hollow after she had been forced to wipe her parent’s memories and send them off to Australia.    
But the real mold on the cheese had been Harry’s birthday “present”, which took the cake as the most awful, thoughtless present she had ever received: Kreacher.    
She had tried to protest, of course, against the very idea of giving a person (even a person as roundly awful and unpleasant as Kreacher) to someone as a gift. That had been the whole point behind S.P.E.W, after all, to stop treating the house-elves like property. Besides which, while Kreacher was undoubtedly a victim of his environment and the cruelty perpetrated on him by elitist wizards, he was also a miserable, annoying and hateful little git. She had spent months trying to be friendly to him as they cleaned out number 12 Grimmauld place and got nothing but abuse and bigotry for her trouble.    
As she had told Harry, she might want him freed, but she also didn’t want him anywhere near her, thank-you-very-much.    
That’s when the Boy Who Lived launched into a long-winded diatribe on how difficult the year had been for  _him_ (as though she wasn’t living through the same difficulties) and how he just couldn’t cope with being responsible for Kreacher anymore. As though that made the prospect of owning the house-elf any more enticing.    
Unfortunately, no-one could win a game of misery poker with Harry “I’m-an-orphan” Potter. In the end, she hadn’t accepted Kreacher, but, apparently, that didn’t actually matter when it came to transferring a house-elf’s allegiance. She considered giving him back to Harry, or maybe to Ron or one of the other Order members...but trading him around like an unwanted, itchy Christmas sweater was exactly the dehumanizing treatment she was trying to fight against. So, in the end, the house-elf became “hers”.    
At first, she tried to look on the bright side. This was an excellent opportunity to give Kreacher a much-needed taste of freedom, something that was sure to improve his attitude. She sat down with the dour house-elf and explained to him that Harry had “given” Kreacher to her but that she did not intend to treat him as a servant, offering him a bobble-hat knit from green yarn. She had made it herself, just like the clothing she had scattered around Hogwarts in happier years.    
Kreacher had screamed right in her face, unleashing a flood of abuse the likes of which she had never heard. Unsurprisingly, he hated the mere thought of Hermione being his new “Mistress”, but somehow he seemed equally offended at the idea of being set free by her.    
That’s when the real trouble started. Before, Kreacher had been a miserable, grouchy presence in 12 Grimmauld Place, having mellowed a bit since the Order of the Phoenix stopped staying there. He still wasn’t cleaning the place up (and Ron claimed to see Kreacher actually  _adding_ dust and cobwebs to the decaying structure), but, with Harry in charge, he had seemed content to lurk and skulk.    
Since Hermione had refused to give Kreacher any orders (except for a common-sense reinforcement of the command not to betray the trio’s presence in 12 Grimmauld Place and do them no harm), the house elf had gone practically feral. He had become even more abusive and foul-mouthed and even began to play cruel pranks on the three unwanted guests within the Black mansion: unplugging the old refrigerator and letting food spoil and ice cream melt, flushing every roll of toilet paper in the house and constantly uncovering the hateful portrait of Walburga.    
Needless to say, this had opened a bit of a rift between Hermione and the other two. Harry seemed resigned to it (perhaps having expected something like this when he gave Kreacher away) but Ron’s hatred of the little house-elf practically boiled over. Ron and Hermione had gotten into multiple shouting matches over Kreacher, with Ron demanding that she bring the little bastard to heel while she stubbornly refused to betray her ethics.    
It had all come to a head in October when Kreacher had hidden a rotting fish in Ron’s mattress. Ron had pulled his wand on Kreacher and, if Hermione hadn’t intervened, he might very well have hurt the wizened little house-elf. She had disarmed him just in time, but this had been the last straw...their argument had practically shaken the old building apart, dragging Harry into it as well. By the end, Ron decided he needed to spend some time at Shell Cottage with his family, abandoning the two of them.    
Harry had gotten mopey, like he always did when Ron wasn’t around, and she could tell that he blamed her for driving Ron off. Harry never quite seemed comfortable around Hermione without Ron there as well and the pressure created by Kreacher (and the looming threat of Voldemort) quickly eroded their relationship as well. Only a week later, Harry offered to go to Shell Cottage as well and try and “talk some sense” into Ron, maybe stay there for a while and see how things were going.    
When she had offered to come along, he said it would probably be best if she stayed and, in his own words, “looked after Kreacher”. He had assured her that he would be back soon and that there was no need to worry.    
...That had been over a month ago. Harry would sometimes stop by, arriving in the middle of the night while she was asleep, and come in via floo powder to leave notes to assure her that everything was fine and that they would be back any day now. She had considered going to Shell Cottage herself to confront them, but she was worried that she’d either end up breaking down and begging their forgiveness or getting into a shouting match that might end the trio’s friendship once and for all...so she waited.   
Shut away in the moldering hulk of 12 Grimmauld Place, she was left alone with Kreacher. Her status as his “Mistress” seemed to shield her from some of his most vicious abuses, but he still seemed to delight in making her miserable. She was starting to understand Ron’s point of view on the house-elf and it was only stubborn determination that kept her clinging to her ethics in the face of Kreacher’s relentless awfulness.    
Determination that was rapidly wearing thin.    
  


****************

  
  
The master bedroom of 12 Grimmauld Place was one of the few areas where the decay that infested the house was slightly abated. Perhaps Kreacher still occasionally tidied up to preserve his Mistress’ chambers, or maybe there were a few lingering preservation charms still hanging on for dear life. Either way, it merely looked like it had been abandoned for a few months rather than a few decades.    
The doorway opened, slowly and carefully to prevent the corroded brass hinges from squeaking. Hermione’s hair entered the room first, the bushy mane of light-brown hair extending several inches beyond the doorway before her eyes had a chance to peer inside, somewhat ruining her attempt at stealth. Nevertheless, she cautiously scanned the room with the air of a cat burglar breaking into a museum.    
Kreacher took a particular dislike to anyone disturbing the master bedroom and any Order members who had decided to sleep in the large, four-poster bed often woke up with spiders in their hair. With no one else around for the house-elf to vent his ire on, Hermione had made sure to avoid the place, until today.    
Satisfied that Kreacher wasn’t lurking around the place, Hermione slowly crept into the room. With Ron and Harry both gone, she had thrown herself into research (when she wasn’t having to deal with Kreacher’s nonsense). Studying was what she had always been best at and if she managed to find some vital secret or hidden strategy that might help turn the tide against Voldemort and his Death Eaters...then maybe Ron and Harry would stop hating her.    
It was worth a try, at least.    
Hermione had already read every book in 12 Grimmauld Place cover-to-cover and back again, a not-insignificant task considering the impressive collection that the Black family had accumulated over the generations. Many of the books had been fascinating works of magical history and spellcraft but none had contained anything particularly applicable to her current situation.    
Now there was only one bookshelf in the old house that she hadn’t examined: the private collection of Walburga Black herself. She had noticed it shortly after the trio had taken shelter in 12 Grimmauld Place, but hadn’t had a chance to browse before Kreacher had chased her out of the room with hateful shrieks. That had been before she had become his “Mistress” but she didn’t see things playing out any better a second time.    
Still, the coast seemed to be clear this time, so she approached the ancient bookshelf by the bed. It was a huge, black monolith, a towering furniture fortress made from dark, ebony wood. It probably cost more than her parent’s house and looked solid enough to serve as a blast shield in an emergency. Its dusty shelves were lined with rows of books, packed so tightly that you wouldn’t be able to fit a magazine in between them. For a moment, the excitement of browsing these new tomes made Hermione forget her distressing situation. As she ran a finger along the threadbare spines of the books, she could think of nothing beyond the joy of newly-discovered knowledge. Her finger alighted on one book and she tilted her head to make out the title, picked out in gilded ink along the spine.    
_Beating Off The Bludgers._   
Hermione blinked, her mind taking a moment to parse the title. She shook her head, half-convinced that she had misread the faded label. She flicked her finger a few books rightward, landing on another book.    
_Wands Aflame: Tales of Passion._   
Her eyes were growing wider now, but somehow she managed to avoid putting two and two together, jumping instead to a third book.    
_Captive Of The Centaurs._   
“Probably...some kind of survivor’s story. Maybe about diplomacy with magical creatures.” Unthinking, she reached out and pulled the book off the shelf. The cover was well-used and there were several dog-eared pages. She opened the book to one of these sections and let her eyes fall on a random paragraph.   
  


_Nessus’ gnarled hands ripped at the fabric of my robes, baring my breasts to the cool night air. Steam rose from his sweat-dappled flanks as he roughly caressed me with fingers and tongue. One hairy, muscular arm reaching between my legs and probed at the petals of my womanly flower, finding them already wet with dew._

_“Good…” His damp breath was hot on my neck as his fingers delved deeper. “You’ll need to be nice and slick for what comes next.”_

_I didn’t need to be told what to do...using my torn robe as padding I knelt on all fours, raising my hips and bringing my chamber of secrets up to meet his massive-_

  
  
Hermione snapped the book shut, face beet red and her hair somehow more frazzled than it had been just a second before. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her clothes suddenly felt very tight and restrictive. She chided herself for reacting like that, she was an adult now, after all. She and Ron had even been together long enough that they had started having sex (at least until Ron left in a huff the month before) but they were both still new and Ron was still a very nervous and clumsy lover, to use the word charitably.  _But doing that with a centaur…? Wow..._   
She considered giving up her search and leaving, but managed to convince herself that it wasn’t a proper investigation if she didn’t check more books. After all, maybe there were some proper magical books hidden here and there among the trashy bodice-rippers. Maybe.    
Her hands were shaking slightly as her fingers hovered over the other books.  _The Velvet Wand, Turpia Scripto, The Joys of Hex, Bound By The Witch-Hunter, XXXtreme Incantations, Surrendering To The Dark Arts, The Warlock’s Passion, Sex the Muggle Way, Dominated by Dementors, Eldritch Pleasures, Arcana and Ecstasy._   
“No, no, no. They can’t all be...adult literature!” Desperate, she yanked another volume from the shelf, entitled  _Dragon Riders of Perth,_ and flipped to a random page.    
  


_Emily Macfusty ran her fingers over the dark scales of the young dragon. The dragon let out a rumble of pleasure deep in its chest and nuzzled her, its long tubular tongue slipping beneath the thin, white fabric of her cotton chemise and caressing her skin. She shuddered with pleasure, shrugging the light dress off her shoulders and allowing the dragon to explore her naked body with its tongue._

_Tonight, they would forge a pact with their bodies and she would be able to soar through the sky on the back of a dragon, riding it just as it would ride her tonight...and many nights to come. While its tongue continued to flick between her legs, she reached down between the young dragon’s haunches, coaxing the shaft of its phallus free of its sheath. The light glistened on the length of the dragon’s might and her body ached with anticipation as she imagined-_

  
  
Hermione realized she was starting to breathe heavily and was reading far more of the book than was necessary to determine its nature. The creaky old house was suffused with late-Autumn chill and she was wearing only a pair of trousers and a light sweater but she still felt like she was burning up.  _Son of a banshee, I didn’t realize how pent up I’ve been...I’d even settle for Ron’s clumsy wand-work right about now. I might not even have to finish on my own for once._   
“Unicorn turds,” she swore with a sigh, putting the book back in place among the rest of the well-read wizard erotica. “I don’t think I’m going to find the secret to winning a war among Walburga Black’s private smut library.”    
She made a foul face at the thought of the old woman in the portrait and her private use of the library. She gave the room another once-over, wondering if there might be more...practical...books tucked away somewhere else, but there was nothing to be found.    
Wiping a strand of hair away from her face, she wondered what she should do next. Should she try and visit Harry and Ron? Maybe if she showed Ron how much she was missing him right now then he might be more amenable to mending fences...but he was also in a small house full of his own relatives. Not exactly the ideal place for a tryst.    
Frustrated, she decided that, for now, her best option was to get ready for bed and tackle the problem in the morning. She turned to leave but hesitated at the doorway for a long moment.    
Blushing furiously, she crept back to the bookshelf and picked out a volume that didn’t look too absurdly scandalous:  _Hot Springs Paradise._ She gave it a tug but encountered surprising resistance. Gripping the spine of the book she pulled harder.    
There was a loud, mechanical snap as the book was pulled halfway free of the shelf. The floor trembled and there was a loud, mechanical grinding noise, causing Hermione to fall backwards onto her bum. At the command of some antiquated charm, the bookshelf slid aside on hidden tracks, eliciting groans of protest from long-rusted and unused mechanisms.   
“Swish and flicker…” Hermione murmured under her breath as she examined the space behind the bookcase. It was a large room, bigger than most living rooms, covered floor to ceiling in large, black marble tiles. Dominating the space was what appeared to be a shallow pool or bath, although it was currently empty. Several gilded gargoyles hung above the pool, the placement and shape of their mouths indicating that they were probably designed as water spouts.    
Other than the pool itself, the main feature of the room was a large, floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over a tranquil, moonlit forest that spilled down the side of a tall hill or mountain.    
“Walburga had a private hot springs hidden behind her porn stash?” Hermione shook her head with wonder at the waste of it all. She had been staying in 12 Grimmauld Place long enough to know the layout and this wall would have been flush with the building right behind it. The only way this space could possibly exist would be with a powerful, permanent Expansion Charm. And certainly there was no-where in the middle of London with a view like that, meaning the window was enchanted as well. “I suppose the old bag knew how to treat herself…”   
She was idly wondering how the gargoyle-heads hooked up to the plumbing in the rest of the house when she heard a noise behind her. It was a high-pitched, hissing growl, like a furious tea kettle. Turning, she saw Kreacher, crouching on the canopy of the four-poster bed and staring at her with abject rage and hatred.    
“Kreacher, I-” Her attempted explanation was cut off by an explosion of fury from the house-elf.    
“No right! No right!” He hopped down from the top of the bed, sliding down one of the posts to the floor. “Stupid mud-child has no right to be here! Go! Go! Go!”   
“I’m just looking!” She protested, her worry about Kreacher’s anger instantly transforming into stubborn defiance. “There’s nothing wrong with looking, is there?”    
If Kreacher had hair he probably would have pulled it out with rage. In fact, he looked angry enough that Hermione was starting to worry he might try pulling out his teeth! He stomped his feet, turning in a circle. A bizarre little jig of fury.    
“No right! No right! This place belongs to the true Mistress!! Not you. Not you!!”    
“Oh?” Hermione narrowed her eyes, the trials of the last few weeks finally beginning to fray her tightly woven sense of ethics. “Have you forgotten who your Mistress is now?”   
Kreacher’s eyes widened and he reared back as though Hermione had physically struck him. She immediately regretted the rash statement...it wasn’t quite giving him an order but it was definitely out of bounds, even for as foul a creature as Kreacher. Before she could apologize, he regained what passed for composure and snapped his finger. The book she had pulled popped back into its place and the bookshelf began to slide back once more.    
“Stupid, fake, foul, smelly, fat Mistress may own Kreacher.” He snarled. “But not house! She doesn’t own house! Doesn’t own bath! Doesn’t own books!”    
“You’re right, but my friend Harry  _does._ Shall I call him back and show him this bathhouse you’ve kept hidden away up here? See what he thinks? Maybe we could invite a few friends for a nice, long soak.”    
Kreacher fell silent at that threat and Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief that the house-elf fell for her bluff. Not having any friends of his own, Kreacher didn’t seem to quite understand the rift that had formed between Hermione, Harry and Ron.    
“That’s what I thought,” Hermione smirked down at the angry husk of a house-elf. “Don’t worry though, I was just curious. I don’t particularly feel like a bath right now anyway.”    
To her surprise, Kreacher didn’t burst back with an angry invective. Instead, he shook his head, hunching his shoulders up even higher (making him look very much like the gargoyle spouts in the hot springs) and snapped his fingers, apparating away.    
Hermione felt a momentary surge of satisfaction but that was quickly tainted by a sense of looming dread. She may have won that bit of verbal sparring...but without some new book of magic who knew how long she and Kreacher would be alone together. She’d probably face the consequences for that brief victory soon enough.    
“This needs to be sorted...once and for all.”   
  


*******************

  
  
Despite 12 Grimmauld Place containing over half-a-dozen empty bedchambers, Kreacher preferred to sleep in his traditional home: the kitchen located in the basement. He had a den tucked inside one of the disused cabinets, filled with moth-eaten sheets and rotting doilies. Cramped quarters even by the standards of a house-elf. Every night, Kreacher would retire to his den, snoring so loudly it could be heard on the first floor.    
The rotting staircase creaked under Hermione’s feet as she descended into the basement. She froze, listening for any sign that Kreacher had heard her, but his snoring continued unabated. Heart pounding, she slowly descended the remaining steps. The kitchen was dark, lit only by the glowing embers in the fireplace. Down here, Kreacher’s snoring was even louder, echoing off the stone walls and causing the cabinet door to rattle with every breath.    
Hermione cautiously approached the cabinet, a cloth bundle in her hands. It was a thick, wooly sweater and a pair of matching knitted pants, both sized for the diminutive proportions of a house-elf. She had knitted them herself, intended as a gift to free Kreacher from servitude. A gift he had steadfastly refused to accept. For all that he seemed to hate her with a bitter passion, he seemed to find the idea of freedom even more unbearable.    
_I don’t know if I’ll ever understand how house-elves think._   
Hermione laid the clothes quietly on the table and turned towards the cabinet, whose door was slightly ajar. She drew her wand from her handbag and, using the tip, pushed the cabinet door open. The dim, flickering light from the fireplace illuminated his face, glistening on the thin line of drool trickling from his mouth. His face was twisted into an angry grimace. Hermione wasn’t sure if he was having an unpleasant dream or if his face was just stuck that way after years of being a hateful git.    
There was a moment of hesitation as she pointed her wand at Kreacher’s sleeping head. What she had planned didn’t exactly feel right, but being alone with Kreacher was like being trapped in a pressure cooker with no release valve. Things had reached a point where drastic action was needed to prevent an explosion. Besides, it was for his own good, in the end.    
“ _Dormio!”_ Her wand flared to life and Kreacher snorted, startled by the sudden noise. However, the sleeping charm hit him before he had a chance to regain consciousness, causing him to jolt briefly before falling into an even deeper sleep. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when another snore rattled the rafters.    
She poked Kreacher’s cheek with the tip of her wand, but there was no reaction. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be waking up until morning, Hermione steeled herself for the next part. She partially closed the door, leaving a crack of only a few inches. She didn’t want to see the results of this next spell.    
It was a spell that she had never intended to use, learning it only for the purpose of the counterspell which was an essential tool for every witch in Hogwarts, given the pranks horny young warlocks could dream up. Turning her head away, she pointed her wand through the crack in the cabinet door.    
“ _Denudo!!”_ The incantation echoed in the small stone room and she had a horrifying vision of Ron and Harry stepping through the flue in the basement right at this moment, but there was no backing out now. There was the sound of laces and cloth rippling as Kreacher’s clothing yanked itself off of the sleeping elf and shot out of the cabinet. She considered for a moment and followed this up with another spell. “ _Acio Cloth!”_   
She winced slightly as she heard Kreacher smack against the ceiling of his little den as his nest of decaying fabric was yanked out from under him. She felt bad, but house-elves were tough little things and all of this would be for nothing if he just turned his bedding into a new ratty toga.    
“ _Wingardium Leviosa!”_ Hermione flicked her wand, sending the pile of stained cloth skyward and floating it towards the fireplace. There was a burst of flame and a waft of foul-smelling smoke as they were consumed one-by-one. Burning Kreacher’s meager possessions felt wrong but there was nothing else to do at this point. She picked up the sweater and pants she had knit for him and folded them neatly before placing them right in front of Kreacher’s den. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a folded note and opened it to review the contents one last time.    
_Kreacher, please accept my apologies but I have decided that I can no longer abide the dreadful state of your clothing and have disposed of them. As you pointed out last night, number 12 Grimmauld Street and its contents belong to my friend Harry Potter, and I cannot in good conscience give you permission to craft yourself any new garments from his belongings. Instead, I have provided you with suitable new clothes. I hope, given the situation, that you will accept them, along with your freedom._   
Folding the note back up, she placed it atop the pile of clothes. The front had Kreacher’s name emblazoned on it in large, neat letters. Her plan completed, she left Kreacher snoring in the cabinet as she ascended the stairs.    
  


******************

  
  
The next morning, Hermione sat in the library of 12 Grimmauld Place, her favorite book open and floating in the air in front of her, although she could hardly concentrate enough to read it. It was hard to predict exactly when Kreacher would wake up from her sleeping charm but it likely wouldn’t last long past dawn, which had broken about twenty-minutes ago and she was on edge, waiting to see what would happen.    
She was sure that, deep down, Kreacher yearned for freedom the same way Dobby had. All thinking creatures wanted and deserved freedom, house-elves were just trapped by centuries of tradition and indoctrination, something that went double for an elf as old as Kreacher. Once he took the clothes and had a chance to experience freedom, she hoped that he would be happy and grateful enough that they might have a chance to start over as friends rather than master and servant.    
...But she was also aware that it was entirely possible that Kreacher’s anger and foul mood might be too deeply ingrained for that. Once freed, Kreacher might just take it as an opportunity to outright attack her or, even worse, he might decide to head straight to the nearest Death Eaters and tell them everything.    
Which is why she had her wand on her lap, ready to apparate away instantly at the first sign of danger. The wards on 12 Grimmauld Place wouldn’t allow the Death Eaters to appear inside or trap her, they’d have no choice but to break in directly, giving her plenty of time to escape.    
If Harry and Ron had still been staying here then she would have considered the risk unacceptable...but they clearly had no intention to return to the place, so what did it matter if it became compromised? It would give her an excuse to meet up with them at Shell Cottage and she’d be able to leave Kreacher behind with a clear conscience.    
Her eyes scanned the page in front of her for the third time, not taking in any of the words as she fought to stay still. To calm her nerves, she floated a cup of warm tea into her waiting hand and sipped it, relaxing as the liquid heat spread through her chest and stomach. The steam licked at her eyelashes and the familiar aroma helped calm and focus her mind.    
That calm broke almost instantly when the library door creaked open. The fingers of one hand tightly gripped her wand, while the other gripped the handle of her teacup, but no pack of Death Eaters swarmed into the room. Instead, she could hear the wheezing breath and light footfall of Kreacher.    
From her current position, one of the library sofas blocked her view of the bottom half of the door, making it impossible to lay eyes directly on Kreacher from this angle. But if he had intended to attack or harass her, then he would have certainly made a more stealthy approach. The hand on her wand relaxed and she forced herself to take another calming sip of tea. Her plan must have worked and now he was coming to speak to her. Any minute now he would walk around the edge of the couch dressed in the red and gold clothes she had knitted for him.    
Hermione nearly choked on her tea when Kreacher strode into view, completely nude.    
She coughed and spat tea across the pages of her book before both book and tea clattered to the floor as she lost focus on the spells holding them aloft. She had never imagined that Kreacher would do something like this and for a moment she was too stunned to think.    
For his part, Kreacher didn’t even spare her a glance as she struggled to reorganize her thoughts. He strode over to a rubbish bin in the corner and began to pick through it, tossing aside broken pencils and discarded wrappers before pulling out several wads of crumpled up papers, including a few copies of the Daily Prophet. Several of the photos made shocked faces, averting their eyes from Kreacher’s nudity.    
“Kreacher?!” Hermione finally managed to choke a few words out, pulling her hair down to cover her bright red face. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?!”    
“What is Kreacher doing?” Kreacher sneered at Hermione over his shoulder. He turned around, showing her the handfuls of crumpled paper “Is Mistress too stupid to see? Kreacher’s awful Mistress punished him, stole Kreacher’s bed out from under him and burnt it all to ash, she did. Now Kreacher has to make a new bed out of trash. Poor, Poor Kreacher.”   
“That’s not what I mean!” Hermione squeaked, still covering her eyes. “I left you clothes to wear! Why are you walking around, like…”   
She trailed off as she dared a peek through the curly brown strands of her hair. Her eyes widened and her mouth worked wordlessly up and down. Kreacher didn’t seem to notice her surprise and sniffed disdainfully.   
“House-elves can’t have clothes, does stupid Mistress not even know that?”   
Hermione didn’t have a sharp-tongued retort, because she was too busy staring in shock between Kreacher’s legs.    
_How on Earth was he hiding that in the potato sack he was wearing before? Did he wrap it around his waist?_   
The subject of Hermione’s horrified fascination hung between Kreacher’s legs. To say that the house-elf was disproportionately endowed was an understatement of the highest order. The veiny cock that hung between his legs was over a third of his height and probably a significant portion of his entire body weight. Its impressive length and girth were in stark contrast to Kreacher’s skinny, hunched build, posture that might be explained by the weight of his cock and the two testicles the size of avocados.    
She had somehow missed it when he had first walked into view, too shocked by his unexpected nudity to take in the details...even one as big as this. She found she couldn’t take her eyes off it, the swaying of its bulbous tip capturing her gaze just as effectively as a hypnotist’s watch.    
“Does Mistress want Kreacher to sleep on cold ground?” He stepped closer, causing the interior of Hermione’s clothes to grow several degrees warmer, holding up the crumpled papers. “Maybe Kreacher’s awful Mistress wants to burn his new bed as well?”    
“K-kreacher! I’m ordering you to take those clothes!” Hermione’s conviction to respect Kreacher’s free will was rapidly melting beneath the blue-white blowtorch flame of embarrassment. Besides, she had already decided to free him, whether he liked it or not.    
Kreacher rolled his eyes. “Stupid, fat-headed Mistress. Can’t order house-elf to not take orders!”   
“I said do it! Put some clothes on!”   
“Won’t do it!”   
“Kreacher, I’m telling you to do it!”    
“Won’t! Won’t! Won’t!”    
“Why? You hate me so much, why not be rid of me?!”    
Silence hung between them for a moment and Hermione finally managed to pull her gaze away from Kreacher’s penis and staring at the ceiling. Kreacher heaved a big sigh and when he responded his voice was unusually level and thoughtful.   
“Kreacher...Kreacher is old. Kreacher has been house-elf for more than six-hundred years…will not live to seven hundred.” It was a flat, matter-of-fact statement. Kreacher’s gaze dropped to the floor and he clutched the wadded paper tightly to his chest. “If Kreacher has no Mistress, then Kreacher is not a house-elf any more..but Kreacher does not know how to be anything else...and Kreacher does not have time to learn.”   
Hermione’s embarrassment faded a bit, although she still didn’t dare look directly at Kreacher for fear of being caught by that hypnotic swaying once more. For the first time, she considered how old Kreacher really was...how many generations of wizards and witches he had served. Could conditioning that deep-set be broken...did she have the right to do that to him?    
She sighed and, being careful not to look directly at Kreacher’s endowments (although she couldn’t help a few sideways glances), she reached into her beaded handbag and pulled out a large, fluffy pillow. She hurriedly yanked the pillowcase off, which was patterned with cartoon bunnies.    
“Here.” She held it out to Kreacher.    
Kreacher narrowed his eyes, peering suspiciously at the item as though it might turn into a sock at any moment.    
“Don’t worry...it’s just a pillowcase. I promise. Take it. So you can make yourself something to wear.”   
“Kreacher is fine, Kreacher does not feel the cold.” Despite his words he still approached, head tilted. The temperature of Hermione’s undergarments seemed to increase by another degree or two as he came closer, close enough that she could have reached out and touched his enormous cock. She felt a twinge between her legs as she imagined how heavy it would feel in her hand, the warmth of skin against skin…   
“P-please!” She finally managed, blushing furiously. “Just take it, alright?!”    
“...” Kreacher reached out and took the fabric, running it through his fingers. “If that is what Kreacher’s awful mistress wants...then Kreacher must obey.”    
“It is!” Hermione’s voice cracked into a squeak. “And I’ve got some sheets that belong to me, they’re in the closet of my bedroom, upstairs. You can use them for bedding.”   
Kreacher, still making no move to cover himself, tossed the crumpled paper into the air, his magic making them float across the room and back into the bin where they belonged. Although Hermione was still trying not to let her eyes snap back to his crotch, she still felt a tiny bit of surprise...that was possibly the first time she had seen Kreacher actually tidy something.    
“Does terrible mud-blood mistress have any other orders for Kreacher?” He was still examining the pillowcase, sniffing it slightly as though he thought it might smell foul...but then again, Kreacher always had a face that looked like he had smelled something foul.    
“N-no!” For a moment, Hermione considered protesting that she wasn’t ordering him...but Kreacher’s insistent and intimidating nudity was too mortifying. If compromising her morals on the subject of house-elf ownership was what it took to get Kreacher to cover himself, then it was worth it. “Just please...make yourself new clothes quickly, okay?”    
“As you wish.” Kreacher threw the pillowcase over his shoulder (still leaving his massive penis on full display) and turned to walk out of the room the way he came. She watched him go, confused why he didn’t just apparate away like he normally did.    
As though drawn by a magnetism charm her eyes were drawn downwards once more. Below the wrinkled crevice of the house-elf’s buttocks, she could easily see his massive cock, swinging slightly to and fro from Kreacher’s hunched gait.    
Unable to tear her gaze away, Hermione pressed the now-bare pillow over her face, blocking out the hypnotic sight. A few moments later, she could hear the door swinging shut and she lowered the pillow to confirm that she was alone once more. She shook her head, still recovering from the shock of the encounter, and ran one trembling hand through her frizzy hair.    
“That…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “That did not go like I was expecting it to…”    
  


****************

  
  
Hermione made a groggy noise of confusion as she turned over in her bed, staring up at the ceiling in mild confusion. It didn’t look like the ceiling back at her house...or the familiar rafters of Hogwarts. Her half-sleeping brain struggled to process the unfamiliar surroundings.    
It didn’t take long for her mind to catch back up to the present, replaying the events of the last few months and her long stay at 12 Grimmauld Place. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and pulled a few strands of hair that had gotten stuck to her lips.    
She glanced over at the clock...it was 5:30 and it took her another moment to register that it was PM rather than AM. She’d had no sleep the night before, arranging the attempted liberation of Kreacher and then waiting to see what he did with his freedom had kept her too jittery to sleep. So, once she and Kreacher had reached what appeared to be an armistice, the exhaustion had caught up with her and she had retired to her chosen bedroom in the Black residence. The overdue, mid-day sleep was much needed, but it had left her disoriented and groggy.    
There was a slight pinching sensation in her chest and she realized that her left breast had slipped free of her bra as she tossed and turned in bed. She had been too tired to bother with pajamas, just stripping down to her bra and panties (both plain white) before collapsing into bed.    
She slipped the bra back into place and tried to adjust it to a more comfortable fit. During the last year or so she’d had a bit of a growth spurt...or at least her chest and waist had, she didn’t seem to gain a scant inch in height. It made her underwear somewhat awkward and uncomfortable but there hadn’t exactly been a lot of opportunities for casual shopping as she and her friends had evaded the Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic. Even if there had, she would have been embarrassed to bring up the issue to Harry and Ron.    
She had made a few attempts to modify them with magic, but it seemed that elastic and polyester were much trickier to work with than the simple knitting charms she used to make house-elf clothes. After accidentally enlarging one pair of underwear to gigantic proportions and being forced to put one of her bras down before it escaped and rampaged through the house, she had decided to forgo any further experiments, lest she run out of underwear entirely.    
_I bet Kreacher would know how to adjust them._ She considered this, wondering if they were now on equitable enough terms for her to ask him for a favor like that...probably not. She could order him to take care of it, of course, but even with last night’s moral compromise, she wasn’t ready to start commanding him to mend her undergarments.    
One thing she had decided was that it was time to start using her authority to keep his behavior under control. His stunt earlier had really clinched it...Kreacher needed someone to keep him in check, the way Harry had (before he got fed up, at least). Once he had properly dressed himself, she was going to lay down some ground rules...the first of which would definitely be ordering him to keep his giant willie covered.    
Then she would be able to go to Shell Cottage, meet with Ron and Harry and tell them that Kreacher wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of swallowing her pride and admitting that she finally had to start ordering him around. Ron would probably be insufferable about it...but at least she’d be able to rejoin the team and find out what the two of them had been up to for the last few weeks.    
And if Ron wasn’t too much of a prick about things then maybe they could make up for a bit of lost time. Reading Walburga’s books the night before had made her realize how much she needed a release. Ron was clumsy and awkward in bed but it was still fun, especially when he was smart enough to follow Hermione’s lead and do as he was told.    
Thinking about it now was making it hard to concentrate on anything else and her body was filling with a pleasant, eager warmth. Her mind drifted back to the books she had glanced at in Walburga’s library, regretting that she hadn’t had the opportunity to filch one for her own personal use right now. She considered trying to call one with the summoning charm...but she couldn’t form a clear mental image and didn’t want to risk attracting Kreacher’s attention.    
She kicked the bedsheets off as the warmth started to suffuse her body and she allowed one hand to drift over the swell of her right breast, fingers slowly tracing the firm bump of her nipple beneath the soft fabric. The sensation was delicious, sending tiny, electric tingles over the surface of her skin. She placed her other hand on the smooth skin of her stomach before moving slowly downward. She ran her fingers languidly over the fabric of her underwear, tracing the contours of her body beneath it.    
She was eager and impatient, but she forced herself to go slowly...it’d be a waste to spend all of her pent-up sexual energy in a few minutes of aggressive masturbation. She kept her hands outside of her underwear, pinching and teasing her nipple even as her fingertips found the soft groove of her vulva outlined by the fabric of her panties.    
She arched her back when her fingers found her clitoris, letting out a small gasp at the intense, erotic pulse that traveled through her body as she rubbed the soft white cotton over it. She could already feel a warm patch of spreading dampness between her legs, soaking quickly into her underwear. She pressed her clit again, harder this time, and felt her body tighten once more as pleasure jolted along her spine.    
After a few moments of teasing, she couldn’t wait any longer. Still rubbing her fingers in tight circles between her legs, she reached out with her other hand and slipped her wand out of her bag.    
“ _Denudo,”_ she whispered, waving the wand over her body, too impatient to slip herself out of her own clothes. The experience was more intense than she had expected. the clasp on her bra popped open, sending it flying into the air and her breasts bounced up and down, suddenly freed from its too-tight embrace. Her legs were pulled up into the air and her panties were quickly, but not violently, yanked off her body in one swift motion. It was oddly exhilarating, like she was being stripped by an eager lover who couldn’t wait to bare her body.    
As both articles of clothing drifted gently to the ground, Hermione waved her wand again. “ _Vibrato.”_   
The room filled with a soft buzzing noise as the tip of the wand began to vibrate. Still trying to draw out her pleasure, she let the tip of the wand wander over her bare body, not quite touching her skin so that only the soft trembling of the air around the wand could be felt. First, she passed it over her chest, goosebumps forming as the chill air quivered against her hot skin, slicking away beads of sweat. Her nipples tightened every time the tip of the wand passed over them, eliciting a small, happy noise and an echoing tightness between her legs.    
Then she let the wand buzz its way across the soft skin of her stomach, tickling and exciting her as it came closer and closer to its final goal.    
Knowing how wild her hair could grow, Hermione made sure to apply regular shaving charms to her pubic hair, leaving it tidy and short, but not completely bare. She could feel those short, stiff hairs prickling as the shivering air passed over them, intensifying the sweet, throbbing ache in her pussy. Her inner thighs were already slick with arousal and she felt like she might come the moment she touched the tip of the wand to her pulsating clit. She bit her bottom lip as she let the tip creep closer, fondling her left breast with her free hand as she felt those intense vibrations scant centimeters away from her skin.    
Her eyes snapped open at the sound of old, brass hinges squeaking. She immediately rolled over, free hand covering her chest and the still quivering wand pointed at the door, ready to blast whoever was intruding, stranger or otherwise. Her chest was heaving against her palm in a mixture of arousal and fear and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears.    
To her surprise, the door was firmly closed. She could even see that the sliding lock was still firmly in place. After a moment of dumbfounded confusion, she scanned the room, searching for the source of the noise.    
That was when her eyes alighted on the slightly ajar door of her closet and a terrible certainty grew in her mind. Grabbing her blankets and wrapping them around her naked body, she rapped her wand on the bedpost to stop the vibration spell and pointed it at the closet door.    
“ _Alohomora!!”_ She shouted, putting enough rage into the spell that the doors flew open and nearly cracked against the wall on either side.    
Past the door of the large closet, she could see two beady eyes and a hunched shape as the figure inside retreated deeper into the shadows. It hissed like a feral cat, baring its teeth as Hermione’s angry glare burned into it.    
“KREACHER!!” She shouted, causing the house-elf to press itself against the wall. “You awful, weasel-faced little bastard!!  _Alarte Ascendare!_ ”   
A flash of blue-white light snaked out of the tip of Hermione’s wand and caught Kreacher around the leg, yanking him out of the closet and sending him flying into the air. Hardly finished, Hermione tracked the flying elf with her wand before unleashing another incantation. “ _Everte Statum!_ ”   
The charm caught Kreacher full in the chest, smacking him into the ceiling before he landed on the ground with a loud, hollow thud. For anything less durable than a house-elf, Hermione might have been worried that her anger had caused some kind of serious injury. In Kreacher’s case, she was certain the injury wasn’t nearly serious enough yet.    
“You maggot-faced piece of shi-” Her invective was cut off at the sight in front of her. Kreacher had landed flat on his back, leaving his spindly limbs splayed out in four different directions...and his erect cock pointing straight up like a flagpole. He had crafted a loincloth from the pillowcase she had given him, made faintly ridiculous by the bunny pattern, but it seemed like he had slipped his penis through a gap in the fabric while he watched her from the closet and it now stood fully erect.    
Hermione stared at it, gaping openly in awe, completely forgetting the tirade that had been forming in her mind. This morning had been quite the shock, but Hermione had assumed that there was no way it could grow much further than its original length...she had been wrong. Fully erect, Kreacher’s cock was easily the length of her forearm and its glossy tip was roughly the size and shape of a large toadstool.   
_How in the world is that supposed to fit in something the size of a female house-elf? I don’t even know if that would fit inside me!_ Hermione almost choked as that thought brought an unexpectedly vivid visual image to mind. Her shock at her own imagination was interrupted when Kreacher shook his head like a dog, recovering from the violent blast of magic.    
It took quite a bit of effort for Kreacher to pull himself upright, the massive length of his cock seeming to cause him significant difficulty in balancing once knocked onto his back. Hermione glared, indignation and anger overcoming her shock at Kreacher’s endowment. She climbed out of bed, holding a bedsheet over herself with one hand in a vain attempt to provide some modesty. The other hand kept her wand firmly pointed at Kreacher.    
“Kreacher…” She was breathing heavily, making the flimsy concealment of the sheet even less effective, but her voice was cold and steady. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blast your wrinkled little head off!”    
Kreacher glared back at her, the defiance and hatred in his eyes mixed with a tiny bit of fear. He was fully upright now, making the ridiculous length of his cock even more apparent as it jutted away from his tiny body like a tree branch. “Kreacher only does what he is told. Now awful mistress wants to punish him for that? Poor, poor, Kr-”   
“ _Diffindo!”_ A flash of yellow light and a sharp crack interrupted Kreacher’s familiar whine. The house-elf’s eyes went wide as the trash bin behind him split into two clean halves. Two wispy white hairs floated to the ground, neatly shaved from one of Kreacher’s many warts. If Hermione’s aim had been a half-inch lower then her severing spell would have split the house-elf clean in two. Her cold eyes told him that she wouldn’t be merciful twice.    
“Don’t you  _dare try_ and give me that smarmy double-talk, Kreacher, or the next one is going to cut your warty old prick  _off!_ ” Hermione pointed her wand a bit lower and smiled as Kreacher took a worried step backwards, although there was no sign of droop in his erection. “And don’t even pretend this has anything to do with your status. Anyone, house elf or otherwise, who creeps on me like that gets treated the same!”   
Kreacher held up his palms in a placating gesture. “Mistress told Kreacher to sleep in her closet! Mistress did! Kreacher just doing as Kreacher was told.”    
“I did no such thi-” Hermione cut herself off, replaying the earlier conversation in her mind...she had thought her instructions had been quite clear, but it was possible the ancient house-elf had misunderstood. “Fine. Maybe I can see how you might have...misinterpreted what I said. But how do you explain  _that?”_   
Hermione gestured with the tip of her wand, although there could have been little doubt what she was referring to. The movement caused the sheet she was covering herself with to become slightly disarrayed, baring most of her chest once more. Kreacher’s eyes flicked between the threatening point of her wand and the soft, pink tips of her nipples peeking around the sheet, causing his erection to quiver slightly.    
“Kreacher…Kreacher saw.” He stammered at first, but some of the old scorn was starting to creep back into his voice. “Kreacher saw what mudblood mistress was doing, all the dirty things. Kreacher couldn’t help it.”    
“ _Bombarda!”_ Hermione flicked her wand, sending the spell to the base of Kreacher’s feet. The resulting blast of smoke and magic sent Kreacher bouncing painfully across the floor. “Now is  _not_ a good time to use that word, Kreacher.”   
Kreacher climbed back to his feet, still glaring but also hunched defensively, like a dog waiting to be kicked. “What will happen to Kreacher now? Will he go on the wall with all the other elves?”    
Hermione hesitated before answering Kreacher’s question. Honestly, she didn’t know herself...she was certainly angry at Kreacher. Furious, in fact. But she had to admit that for all of her aggressive posturing she didn’t have it in her to kill the awful little house-elf, especially knowing that Kreacher was utterly helpless to defend himself against his “mistress”.   
But there was no way that she was going to let him get away with this either.   
“This is the last straw, Kreacher...I want you to listen very closely, because these are all commands from your  owner .” Right now, Hermione was ready to take the S.P.E.W. pamphlets she had made and toss them into a fire. “You are going to put that disgusting willie of yours back in your pants and you are  _not_ allowed to wank yourself off. Then you are going to go back to your nasty little den in the basement and  **stay there** until I call for you. Understood?”   
“But..but if Kreacher does not take care of things…” The house-elf gestured at his oversized member with a look of wide-eyed distress. “Then Kreacher’s balls will be blue-”   
“I said no wanking! I don’t care how blue your balls get, you hear? I’m not having you wanking off to me, you hear?!”    
“...Yes, Mistress.” Kreacher’s face wrinkled. He wrapped both hands around the shaft of his cartoonishly large cock and, with an audible grunt of exertion, he pulled it straight upwards, nearly smacking himself in the nose with it. Hermione couldn’t help but watch with horrified fascination as it somehow slid downward, like a ladder sliding down a hole, into Kreacher’s small, bunny-patterned loincloth. Within moments, the whole thing was completely out of sight, although its unseen girth was apparently causing Kreacher some difficulty as he waddled unsteadily.    
“Good.” Hermione lowered her wand and finally noticed how much skin she was still showing and hurried to re-arrange the sheets to fully conceal her nakedness once more. She would have blushed, but her cheeks were already bright-red from anger. “Now, go down to the basement and don’t show your face until I call for you.”    
Kreacher nodded sullenly and snapped his fingers, disapparating with the sound of a whip-crack, leaving Hermione alone in her room once more. With a quick spell, she repaired the trash bin she had sliced in half and cleaned up the scorch marks from the floor, followed by a good scouring spell on every surface Kreacher had touched.    
Finally, she flounced down onto the bed, still fuming. Her pelvis ached unpleasantly from the unreleased sexual tension she had built up. It was enough that she almost wished that she had at least finished herself off before catching Kreacher...at least then she would have had a nice orgasm.    
Hermione toyed with the tip of her wand, pondering whether or not she should try to get back in the mood and finish what she started. She closed her eyes and gently stroked her fingers over the lips of her pussy. They were still flushed, moist and over-sensitized, begging for more stimulation. Circling her fingers over the firm bump of her clitoris, she allowed her mind to drift, trying to regain the state of arousal she had achieved earlier.   
She tried to think about Ron, the last time they were together...but then, unbidden, her mind strayed and the image of Kreacher popped into her head..in particular the image of that massive, donkey-like cock on that tiny, wizened body. To her horror, this did not have the effect of immediately derailing her arousal. As a matter-of-fact, the image made her pussy clench tightly, triggering a spike of pleasure as her fingers flicked over her clit.    
The feeling was strong enough that her fingers kept moving on their own, massaging at the nubbin of her clitoris and bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. Her mind was just as out-of-control, spinning perverse fantasies about how the house-elf’s cock might feel in her hand, against her skin, its wide, glistening tip pressing against the lips of her-   
_No! No!_ Teetering on the verge of orgasm, Hermione yanked her hand away and yanked fistfuls of hair over her face. She kicked her bare legs in frustration, tangling them in the bedsheets, and silently cursed the miserable little house-elf Harry had saddled her with.    
_He’s going to pay for this, the knob-nosed little bastard._ Hermione promised, burying her face in the pillow. She felt a headache coming on, flowing from the thick knots of tension in her neck and shoulders.  _Ugh...this sucks. Maybe I could run myself a bath and have a nice long soak._   
Hermione’s head perked up, remembering something that she had hitherto forgotten. A way to relax...and make Kreacher miserable. It was perfect.    
  


*********************

  
  
The hidden door’s mechanism grumbled in protest as Hermione tugged on the spine of  _Hot Springs Paradise_ . After a few moments, the secret bath house was revealed once more.   
Hermione looked around, half-expecting that Kreacher might defy her orders and appear to harangue her once more but the master bedroom remained silent and empty. Hermione nodded, satisfied that Kreacher’s enforced loyalty exceeded his determination to defend Walburga’s secrets.    
She walked inside, running her hands along the smooth black marble tiles. The window that filled the entire Northern wall revealed the same view it had before, although now it was early twilight and she could see birds flitting happily from tree to tree. It was a beautiful view and after so many weeks squirreled away in the gloomy halls of 12 Grimmauld Place, the view was like a soothing balm for Hermione’s soul and for a moment she just stood in the doorway, drinking it in.    
A chilly draft from the bedroom’s cracked window snuck its way beneath the bathrobe she was wearing and brought Hermione back to the present. She was naked beneath the robe and the rickety old mansion was too cold to just stand around like that.    
“Kreacher, come here.” She called out, hoping the house-elf hadn’t caught on to what she was doing in his former mistress’ bedroom. The anticipation of his shock and distress brought a smile of cruel satisfaction to her face.   
The air cracked with the sound of Kreacher apparating behind Hermione. She kept her back turned, seemingly unconcerned by Kreacher’s presence, but her smile widened at the house-elf’s choking growl.    
“Y-y-you were told!!” Kreacher stammered. Hermione couldn’t see his face but she imagined that it was quickly turning a beautiful shade of indignant purple. “Mistress’ bath must stay clean! Clean! No filthy mudbloods-”   
“Be silent, Kreacher.”    
Hermione finally looked over her shoulder, shooting a look of pure, ice-cold disdain at the tiny elf. Kreacher’s eyes widened and he barely avoided biting his own tongue as his jaw snapped shut with a loud  _click_ . Fuming impotently and unable to speak, Kreacher balled his hands into tiny fists and glared up at Hermione.    
“There, isn’t that much nicer?” Hermione’s voice was sugar-sweet as she bent down (coming perilously close to spilling out of her loosely tied bathrobe) and tapped the hooked tip of Kreacher’s nose with her wand. Her grip on the wand tightened and her face and voice grew colder. “Now, let me make something clear, you miserable little whinging sod...I don’t care what that puckered old hag Walburga would approve of, understood?”   
Kreacher’s jaw worked soundlessly. He couldn’t speak, but Hermione could imagine the screeched curses he was imagining right now.    
“Nod if you understood, Kreacher.” She commanded, pressing the tip of her wand harder against the house-elf’s nose. After a moment’s hesitation, he gave a curt, angry nod, although he continued to silently mouth insults at her.    
“Good!” The sweetness was back as she straightened up and slipped her wand into the pocket of her bathrobe. “Now, I’m going to take a bath. A nice, long bath and so I need you to get this old thing working again...you can speak again by the way.”    
“-cow-brained, manky slag!” Kreacher’s words burst out like water from a dam. “Kreacher can’t turn on bath. Can’t do it! Awful mistress should jump in a puddle, not mess up nice clean bath!”    
“Can’t...or won’t?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Which is it Kreacher?”   
“...” Kreacher’s beady eyes shifted quickly from side to side. “Kreacher...Kreacher doesn’t know how...doesn’t remember. Kreacher is so old...poor poor Kreacher.”   
“I don’t believe you, Kreacher.” The lack of insults made it clear that he was lying. Hermione tapped her wand against the marble wall, striking several large, bright sparks. “Here’s what’s going to happen...you’re going to run me a lovely, hot bath...and you won’t do a single thing to ruin it. You won’t make the water too hot or cold...won’t fill it full of leeches or frogs or anything of the sort. You’re going to treat me like Walburga herself...do you know why, Kreacher?”    
The house-elf shook his head warily.    
“Because…” Hermione drew her wand across the marble wall again, producing another line of sparks. “If you aren’t on your absolute best behavior, then I am getting rid of that awful, hideous old portrait downstairs.”   
“Can’t!” Kreacher hissed. “Stupid, fat-headed mistress can’t undo the sticking charm!”    
“ _Incendio.”_ Hermione snapped, sending a gout of flames over Kreacher’s head. The house-elf took a step back, stumbling over a discarded cushion and tumbling to the floor. Hermione loomed over him, flames flickering over her wand. “I don’t need to unstick the painting to get rid of it. A wall covered in ashes will be unsightly, but it’ll still look better than that crone’s miserable old face.”   
Kreacher went pale, shaking his head in horror at the thought. Before he could say anything else, Hermione turned her back on him and walked briskly into the hidden bathhouse. After a moment’s hesitation, he rose to his feet and loped after her.   
“Did that jog your memory, Kreacher?”   
Kreacher mumbled something unintelligible and probably deeply insulting as he walked past her, into the bath, but Hermione ignored it. In the past, Kreacher’s abuse used to infuriate and embarrass her...it was like all of her awful, bigoted classmates and teachers had been compacted into a single, ugly, vile little man who existed only to shriek abuse at her. But now that she was no longer afraid to tell him what to do, it hardly seemed to matter...she was the one in control and his spiteful invective no longer seemed to distress her.    
She crossed her arms over the fluffy bathrobe, colored Gryffindor red and gold, and watched as Kreacher clambered over the bath. He inspected every drain and pipe carefully, probably searching for some sign of decay or infestation that might convince Hermione not to soil the place with her presence. However, it seemed like the sealed entrance (or perhaps some lingering enchantment) had preserved this room far better than the rest of 12 Grimmauld Place and Kreacher could find nothing amiss.    
Grumbling to himself, Kreacher crawled over to a small series of knobs and valves set in one wall. They were unlabeled but Kreacher seemed to have no trouble recalling their function as he twisted and adjusted them. There was a deep, groaning noise somewhere in the bowels of the mansion’s plumbing and a distant hiss of steam. Hermione didn’t know what non-Euclidian pipework allowed hot water to flow into a room that, technically speaking, didn’t properly exist.    
Kreacher twisted a larger, brass-plated valve and steaming streams of water began to flow from the gargoyle-shaped pipes. The pool filled quickly, fed by the pipes in the ceiling and several hidden jets of water located in its walls. Soon the entire room was filled with clouds of steam and Hermione was growing uncomfortably warm inside the thick, terry cloth bathrobe. She could feel droplets of water, either condensed steam or sweat, tickling along the bare skin beneath the robe, flowing along the curve of her breasts or the arch of her back.    
“Bath is ready.” Kreacher practically spat the words out. “But there is no soaps...not that it would make a difference for nasty mistress...not when the filth is on the inside.   
“ _Everte Statum.”_ Hermione muttered, catching Kreacher in the face with the spell and knocking him head-over-heels into the steaming water.  _Okay, maybe I’m not quite as over his insults as I thought I was._   
Several bubbles rose to the water’s surface, followed by Kreacher’s unpleasant grimace. He bobbed in the water, apparently as buoyant as a piece of wood. Hermione smirked down at him, enjoying the look of sodden misery on Kreacher’s face.    
“ _Vapor Vestimenta”_ Hermione waved her wand through the steam-filled air while she undid the belt of her bathrobe with the other hand. As the robe fell to the floor, clouds of thick steam collected around her body, forming an opaque barrier to protect her modesty.    
...for the most part. Looking down, she noticed that the steam-spell didn’t cover quite as much as she had expected. Rather than a diaphanous robe of fog, it was more like a bikini made of mist, with thin wisps of steam just barely clinging to her breasts and hips. It didn’t exactly leave a lot to the imagination...but she also wasn’t about to give Kreacher the satisfaction of watching her fumble for a new modesty spell. This would have to do.    
To her surprise, Kreacher’s reaction to her new appearance was a visible wince of pain and he lowered his face into the water. Bubbles rising from his mouth and nose and only his beady eyes and wrinkled scalp could be seen above the surface.    
She briefly considered banishing Kreacher from the bathhouse, feeling more exposed and naked in her vaporous clothing than she had expected. Even blurred by the clouds of steam rising from the pool, she could feel his eyes on her and the memory of catching him in her closet was still fresh.    
_No...this is part of his punishment. I want him to watch me take a dip in Walburga’s bath. Let him see the mudblood in her secret sauna._   
That was it. Spite was definitely the only reason why she didn’t tell Kreacher to leave.    
And the liquid slowly trickling down her inner thigh was definitely only condensed steam.    
Definitely.   
Forcing herself not to think too hard about it, Hermione kicked off her slippers and approached the edge of the pool. The sensation of the hard, cold marble floor beneath her feet was a delicious contrast with the thick, wet heat filling the sauna.    
She lowered herself slowly into the piping hot bath, sighing with delight as she descended into the steaming water inch-by-inch. Her muscles relaxed instantly as they slipped beneath the water, dissolving tight knots and aches she didn’t even realize had been bothering her. It felt so good that when her breasts and shoulders descended into the liquid she couldn’t help but let out a drawn-out groan of pleasure. The sound was much more erotic than she had intended but she was too relaxed and light-headed to summon up any shame.    
The pool was wide and deep, allowing her to lay back and float in the pleasantly heated water, arms and legs spread wide. Her hair formed a dark halo around her head and the steam-spell she had cast formed into swirling spirals of thin vapor over her breasts and waist.    
She let herself simply float for a while, hot water lapping against her flanks and legs as she allowed the heat to soak into every joint and muscle. With half-lidded eyes she stared at the ceiling, watching the pink-and-yellow light of sunset stream through the steam in fascinating patterns.    
Hermione wasn’t sure how long she was floating there, until the sound of splashing brought her back to her senses. She had completely forgotten about Kreacher, who was currently dog-paddling over to the edge of the pool, looking remarkably similar to a hairless, waterlogged rat. Reaching the edge of the pool, Kreacher pulled himself out of the water and waddled over to the valves and knobs, checking a small gauge set in the wall before making small adjustments to the settings, presumably to keep the temperature from rising to uncomfortable levels.    
Hermione squinted through the clouds of steam, noticing that Kreacher was moving oddly. He was limping with each step, visibly pained as he plodded across the floor.    
She considered ignoring the house-elf’s obvious discomfort, but the soothing bath was already washing away her anger and irritation. She was still quite cross with Kreacher, but she was also starting to worry that she might have badly hurt him when she knocked him around earlier that day.    
With a swirl of steam and water, she kicked herself over to the edge of the water. She ran her hand through her hair, pulling the dripping strands out of her face. Standing by the pool’s edge she was just tall enough to rest her elbows on the rim. She shivered slightly as the flushed skin of her breasts and arms touched the still-cool marble tiles.    
“Kreacher, are you alright?”   
“Alright?” Kreacher looked over his shoulder at Hermione and she could definitely see pain mixed into the default expression of annoyance and disgust he always wore. “Of course Kreacher is not alright. Kreacher is forced to serve an awful, filth-hearted mistress. Kreacher has to keep the water fresh so she doesn’t muddy the Black’s bath with her filth.    
“That’s not what I’m talking about, you miserable little shite.” Hermione sighed, her goodwill already fading. She picked up the wand she had left on the edge of the pool and used it to gesture Kreacher to come closer. “You’re walking oddly. Did you get injured? I should be able to mend it with some healing charms.”    
“Kreacher...Kreacher is not injured.” Despite his statement, it seemed like his movements were even more awkward and pained as he limped towards her.    
“That’s not what it looks like to me. What’s the matter?”    
“Kreacher cannot tell...terrible, cruel mistress will just get angry with Kreacher.”    
“I’m not going to get angry at you. I just want to know what the problem is.”    
“No, no, no…” Kreacher murmured, shaking his head. “Kreacher will be savagely punished, even if it isn’t Kreacher’s fault. Poor, Poor, Kreacher.”   
Hermione was already regretting bringing up the topic, as trying to convince Kreacher to let her help him was quickly eroding the relaxation she felt from the lovely bath. But now that she had, there was no way she’d drop the subject without finding out what Kreacher was trying to hide.    
“ _Dicerno Egritudo._ ” She flicked her wand, invoking a flickering globe of light from midair. The diagnostic charm buzzed cheerily as it zoomed around Kreacher who eyed the pulsing spark with suspicion. Finally, it settled near Kreacher’s pillow-case loincloth, still soaked from his dip in the pool. It flashed brightly and a bolt of green light flashed out, arcing over Kreacher’s groin.   
Before either she or Kreacher could react, the makeshift needlework holding the loincloth together flickered and evaporated into drifting motes of light. Unbound, the loincloth unraveled, dumping a bucket-full of water on the floor (confirmation, if any were needed, that Kreacher’s clothes were enchanted with some kind of house-elf Extension Charm) but Hermione hardly noticed because it also unbound Kreacher’s monstrously large cock once more.    
It was erect again (or still?) and it leapt from the confines of Kreacher’s loincloth like a spring-loaded snake from a can of nuts. Kreacher was barely standing within arm’s reach but now the knobby tip bounced up and down scarcely an inch from Hermione’s face. She was too shocked to pull away and could only stare, transfixed by the gently bobbing cock-head close enough that she could see every throbbing vein decorating the length of its shaft.   
Kreacher cleared his throat uncertainly, breaking Hermione’s trance. She pulled back, water splashing around her, pointing her wand at Kreacher. The house-elf threw up his arms to cover his face, the violent movement causing the ridiculously oversized cock to wobble back and forth.    
“Awful! Awful!” Kreacher screeched. “Kreacher did nothing, but still awful, bitch-mistress punishes him!”   
Hermione hesitated...what he said wasn’t technically incorrect, after all. It had been her spell that had revealed his...condition.    
“That’s still no call for you to be in such a state!” Hermione lowered the tip of her wand but didn’t completely stand down. “Can’t you keep yourself under control for fifteen minutes?”   
“Stupid!” Kreacher gestured at his crotch. “What else can Kreacher do, stupid woman? Kreacher was punished! Told to leave it like this!”   
That’s when Hermione noticed the state of his testicles. Much like his cock, they were far larger than normal for his size but they were visibly swollen and colored a mottled shade of blue, like the face of someone choking on a meatball.    
“Wait...what?”    
“Muck-brained excuse for a mistress!” Kreacher snarled. “Doesn’t know anything about elves! Kreacher can’t go down without relief!”    
“You’re telling me that you can’t...you’ll stay erect forever if you don’t...um...don’t…”   
“Come! Kreacher will explode if he doesn’t! Don’t you even know that much?”   
“Of course not! Why didn’t you tell me?”   
“Kreacher tried to, you daft cunt!” The house-elf stamped one diminutive foot, setting his still-throbbing erection wobbling up and down.    
“This wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you weren’t a creeping little pervert!” Hermione was shouting back at him, pulling herself half-out of the water to glare at him at eye-level, barely aware of the rigid shaft between the two of them.    
“Wouldn’t have happened if Kreacher’s fat-headed brazzy mistress hadn’t burned all of Kreacher’s clothes!!”    
“I was  _trying to help you,_ you ungrateful, ass-faced little rat!” Their voices were echoing against the marble tiles. “And don’t even think about trying to talk me into helping you with that awful thing!”    
“Stupid, ugly mudblood wouldn’t even know what to do! Kreacher can do it himself!”   
“Ugly? Didn’t seem to think so when you were peeking at me from the closet. If I’m so ugly then why are your balls ready to burst?”   
Kreacher opened his mouth to return the insult but the words turned into a strangled sound of shock when Hermione’s hand closed around his cock, just below the tip. Hermione was hardly less shocked by what she had just done, staring down at her fingers wrapped around Kreacher’s shaft then back up at Kreacher’s face, then back down to her hand.    
She could feel the thick veins beneath her fingers and the rapid pounding of Kreacher’s heartbeat hammering through them.    
It twitched in her hands.    
Time seemed to slow and she knew that there were two choices...she could let go, play this off as an accident and send Kreacher off to take care of himself like he had asked. Or she could…   
She could keep going.    
Obviously, the first choice was the right one. Kreacher was a horrid little beast, ugly inside and out. Why in the world would she want to do anything with or for him? She just acted without thinking...she didn’t  _really_ want to do anything with the terrible little elf.    
But even if she backed out now then Kreacher would know it. He would have seen her flinch...and even if she ordered him to keep the secret for the rest of his life the two of them would know. She’d see it behind his eyes every day, assuming she could even bring herself to look him in the eyes ever again. The humiliation would be unbearable.    
Kreacher let out a throaty, rattling growl and she realized that her hand had started to move on its own, her fingers sliding up and down the damp length of Kreacher’s enormous prick.    
In the end, it seemed that her subconscious and her body had cast the decisive vote, bypassing her pride, dignity and logic entirely. Her hand started moving faster and with greater conviction. She couldn’t have pulled away if she wanted to. Looking down, she could see her fingers (which could barely fit around Kreacher’s girth) working up and down the damp, gray skin of Kreacher’s shaft. Her other hand joined in, cupping the bulbous tip and rubbing in tight circles.   
Her eyes flicked back up to meet Kreacher’s and for a moment the two just stared at one another. She could feel him jerk and twitch against her palm.    
“M-mistress…?”    
“Just to be clear, I’m not doing this for your benefit.” She snapped, hoping her self-assured tone hid the slight quaver in her voice. “You just...interrupted me and ruined my personal time earlier. So, obviously, it’s only right that you make it up to me. And if you do good, then maybe we’ll also take care of your problem.”    
To her horror, Hermione realized that she had just proposed much more than a simple handjob, but the boulder was already rolling downhill and there was no stopping it. Even if she hadn’t said anything she could tell that her body was already thrumming with taut, eager energy. The weeks without physical contact...the intriguing books decking Walburga’s shelves...her interrupted masturbation earlier...everything that had been building up was longing to break free.    
She wanted this. Needed it, in fact.    
“Don’t just stand there like a dunce, move closer.” She let go of Kreacher’s cock, although her palm still tingled where their skin had touched. She was breathing heavily now, dizzy from the steam and arousal. Sweat and condensed steam were dripping down her face and chest, dripping into the heated bath.    
Kreacher obediently waddled closer, still favoring his swollen testicles, and Hermione lifted herself a bit further out of the water. The movement caused his cock to sway from side to side, wobbling comedically. The marble tiles were slick from cooling steam and one foot slipped slightly, causing Kreacher to lose his balance.    
_Whack!_   
Hermione held up a hand to her cheek, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. Kreacher’s slip-up had sent his cock arcing wildly, causing the tip to smack her in the face. It hadn’t hurt at all...on the contrary, the sudden contact had sent an electric pulse through her whole body...but the shock left her momentarily speechless as Kreacher’s cock bounced up and down against the hot, wet skin of her chest.    
“You clumsy little twat, you nearly put my eye out!” Hermione finally snapped out of the trance, covering her true reaction with indignance. “Don’t you know how to handle yourself? Don’t tell me you’re a six-hundred-year-old virgin? Should I worry about you coming the moment I touch it?”    
“Kreacher knows more than stupid mistress whose only been with clumsy ginger cunt.” Hermione had to fight the urge to giggle at that description, keeping her face stern. “Kreacher has serviced proper mistresses many times. Many, many times.”    
For some reason, it had never occurred to Hermione that Kreacher had fucked the women of the Black family. Was that a thing with the rich pure-blood families? Were they all fucking their house-elves? Maybe that’s why so few of them wanted to be freed.    
_I suppose it’s no surprise, given the equipment house-elves seem to be packing._   
“Well just sit down here on the ledge, I’ll handle things so you don’t give me a bloody concussion.”    
Kreacher grumbled but obediently sat on the rim of the bath, his spindly legs dangling just above the steaming water. Droplets of water ran down the curve of his massive erection and dripped from its shiny tip.   
This close, Hermione couldn’t hold herself back anymore. She pressed herself forward, her firm nipples chilled by the moderately cooler tiles lining the rim of the steaming bath. Closing her eyes and casting her dignity aside, she nuzzled her face against the house-elf’s cock, feeling the veiny length pulse against her cheek.    
_This is happening...I’m really going to fuck Kreacher._   
Kreacher let out a rattling groan as Hermione lowered her head to lick his swollen, blue balls, running her tongue over the taut, rippling skin of his sack. Opening her mouth as wide as she could, she tried to suck one but it was like trying to fit an entire orange in her mouth and all she could do was run her lips and tongue over the swollen orb, slurping the thin sheen of warm water that covered them.    
“A-ah! S-tupid, know-nothing mudblood!” Kreacher hissed. “Be careful, Kreacher is sore.”   
Hermione did her best to glare up at Kreacher with his massive cock covering most of her face. “Don’t forget who’s in charge, you thick-headed wanker. I’ll do what I want and you’ll damn well like it!”    
To prove her point she made another valiant attempt to inhale his balls, licking and slurping with renewed vigor. Despite his protests, Kreacher’s eyes rolled back into his head and she could see his toes curling only inches from the water’s surface.    
She stuck out her tongue, pressing it flat against the underside of his scrotum, feeling the weight of his testicles against it. Slowly, she rose out of the water and moved upwards, tongue gliding over the house-elf’s ballsack and then pressing against the base of his penis before sliding up that thick, pulsating ridge running along the underside of the shaft.   
As her tongue approached the tip, Kreacher’s cock twitched violently, jumping up an inch or two before slapping back down onto Hermione’s face and open mouth. Then it did it again, the spasm lifting it up and then dropping it, smacking her in the face with the weight of the house-elf’s erection. Kreacher hissed as he came, his cock pulsating as it shot a jet of cum straight into the air, arcing over Hermione’s head like an erotic water feature. Another clench sent a second jet of cum splashing into the bathwater right behind Hermione.    
“Did I say you could jizz already?” Hermione angrily gripped his cock around the base, shaking it angrily and causing the drooping length of his cock to waggle like an uncooked sausage. “Now what am I supposed to do, huh, greedy asshole?”    
“Kreacher isn’t like your stupid ginger.” He snapped his fingers contemptuously and Hermione’s fingers spread apart as his cock instantly swelled back to its full size. Within a second, she was holding a firm, throbbing erection once more.    
“Bloody hell…” Hermione gazed in awe at the thing, its tip still dribbling cum.  _If I had known he could do that I might have tried this sooner…_   
Kreacher snickered, earning another dirty look from Hermione, but she was too intoxicated by the experience to think about stopping or slowing down out of spite. Standing to her full height in the bath, she came to eye-level with Kreacher. To her shock, the house-elf leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth.    
She was too surprised to pull back and, before she knew it, their lips were locked together. Kreacher’s cock was between them, resting against Hermione’s chest and shoulder as she pressed forward to deepen the kiss.    
She felt Kreacher’s tongue flick against her lips. With a soft moan, she allowed the elf’s tongue to part her lips, gently sucking to pull it into her mouth.    
She tasted Kreacher as their tongues lapped and curled over one another...a musty, papery taste...almost the way an old book smells. Not unpleasant, but distinctive. She pulled back, teeth gently clamped onto Kreacher’s lower lip, pulling it softly and releasing it. They kissed again, soft, light pecks this time, lips and tongues just barely touching before being released again.    
As they kissed, she ran her hands up and down the length of Kreacher’s cock, pressing it against her body. The vapor spell still clung to her chest, wrapping Kreacher’s cock in a thin cloud of warm mist as she pressed her breasts against it. With her hands on both sides, she pressed her breasts firmly together, enveloping him in her warmth even as their mouths came together for another long kiss. She rubbed herself up and down the length of him, her breasts stroking against both sides of his cock and tickling it with wisps of steam.    
Finally, their mouths separated, Hermione pulling back and lowering her head to hungrily wrap her lips around the head of his cock. It was round and wide, shaped much like the head of a mushroom (the color was similar as well) and she could feel her jaw ache as she struggled to fit the entire thing inside her mouth. Kreacher’s heartbeat was like a tiny jackhammer against her tongue, each twitch and jerk tickling the back of her throat.    
With a soft slurping noise, she began to bob her head, working the head of his cock in and out of her throat as she tried to take as much of him into her mouth as she could. It was a struggle, due to both girth and length, and she could feel herself struggling to get a full third into her mouth.    
“This must be the best a mud-blood can do.” Kreacher grinned, licking his lips as Hermione gagged on his cock. “Mistress Walburga could get much further.”   
Hermione could only manage a muffled, angry growl as she redoubled her efforts, relaxing her throat and jaw and pushing as hard as she could, feeling the tip of Kreacher’s fat cock pressing into her throat.    
“Ah, mistress, let Kreacher help!”   
A startled  _mmmph!_ was all that Hermione could manage as Kreacher grabbed two fist-fulls of her wet hair and yanked her head down. The steam seemed to thicken as Hermione’s vision dimmed, but she gamely sucked Kreacher deeper, her body tingling all over as she felt him pulsing inside of her throat.   
He came a second time, filling her throat and stomach with his cum. All the while, he kept a tight grip on her hair, making sure every drop made it inside of her. After what seemed like an eternity, he released her and she pulled back, feeling the softening cock sliding out of her throat.    
Finally freed, she coughed and gasped for air, the taste of Kreacher’s cum thick in her mouth. It was like tapioca pudding...not metaphorically...it actually tasted of tapioca, with a hint of cinnamon.    
“Kreacher, you…*gak*...you tit...I never said you could do that!” She glowered, but she was also licking her lips clean, swallowing the droplets that spattered her chin. “If you think I’m going to let you near my pussy behaving like that then you’re even more of a nutter than I thought!”    
“Aaaw...Kreacher forgot his mistress was a weak little mud-blood girl.” Kreacher grinned smugly, spreading his hands out. “Mistress is right, little old Kreacher is too much for her...she should go back to playing with the stupid ginger prat.”    
Hermione’s mouth tightened, but it was obvious to both of them that she wasn’t going to back out now. She hadn’t come yet and her pussy was throbbing so hard that each twinge sent a tiny spasm through her pelvis. Her hips were literally shaking with the desire to get something inside her.    
“Fine. Then get it up already!”    
Kreacher obediently snapped his fingers as Hermione ascended the submerged stair-step platform, emerging from the hot bath with steam rising from her skin and coalescing around her waist and chest. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the steam-spell, causing the condensed vapor to waft away and revealing her body, glistening in the dim light from the window. She lifted herself up onto the rim of the bath, kneeling on the edge with her knees straddling Kreacher’s tiny form.    
As his cock re-inflated to its full size it slid up her body, slipping over wet skin and coming to rest with its tip pressed to the underside of her left breast, prodding against the firm nub of her nipple.    
“Just remember, if you don’t do your job right I’m big enough to crush you, alright?”    
With that, she grabbed Kreacher under his skinny armpits and pulled him up for another kiss, her long, wet hair forming a curtain around them as she sucked his lips and tongue before continuing to plant kisses across his face and the top of his bald, wrinkled head.    
Kreacher returned the favor, burying his head between her breasts, licking and sucking until he found his way to one of her nipples. She hissed as his jagged little teeth pinched gently against her firm nipple, pressing ever-so-lightly against the darker skin of her areola, just enough to leave tiny dents in her flesh.   
His cock still throbbing against her stomach and chest, Kreacher’s fingers slipped between her legs. Hermione had become thoroughly wet, between the steaming hot bath and her own sexual frustration there was no friction left at all as Kreacher’s fingers slipped over and inside the puffy lips of her vulva. The tip of his thumb stroked the thin stubbly growth of her pubic hair before settling against the pulsating swell of her clit. Hermione could only moan and shake as his other fingers delved inside her. His hands were small but his fingers were long and spindly and they probed deeply, finding her G-spot with pinpoint precision.    
Hermione trembled, almost collapsing on top of the tiny house-elf as her pussy was massaged inside and out. Kreacher continued to lick and suck her nipple, gently pulling at it with his lips and teeth until it was swollen and sensitive, every touch sending pulses of pleasure through her body.    
She could feel the hot, slick walls of her pussy trembling and tightening around Kreacher’s fingers as they insistently circled her G-spot. She had never felt like this with Ron or even with her trusty wand...like she was standing on top of a cliff with a vast ocean below, its crashing waves of ecstasy ready to rush over the top and swallow her up.   
Then...it stopped. Kreacher pulled his fingers away, leaving her pussy aching and dripping as her muscles clenched around nothing. The delicious pressure on her clit vanished as Kreacher’s thumb pulled back as well. With one final lap of his gray tongue, he stopped playing with her nipple as well.    
“Wh-what do you think you’re doing...you fucker...keep going!” Hermione pressed herself against Kreacher, practically ready to beg for more. The rigid length of his cock was the only thing that pushed her back.    
“Kreacher was just getting mistress ready. Doesn’t mistress want it inside?” He licked his fingers, lapping up the glistening pussy-juice that coated them all the way to the knuckle. “Kreacher’s nasty mistress tastes of mud-blood.”   
“Prick.” Hermione wasn’t quite sure if that was an insult or a demand, because her body was starting to move on its own, rubbing up and down the length of Kreacher’s improbably long shaft. She was leaning further forward, forcing Kreacher to lean back on his elbows as she pressed against him, spreading her knees so that she could run her slick pussy along the length of Kreacher’s cock. “Shut up and fuck me already, Kreacher. That’s an order!”    
She didn’t wait for him to comply, pressing one hand against his bony chest and forcing him down onto the ground. As he lay below her, she lifted herself higher on her knees, pulling his long cock against her, trying to gain the height needed to slip him inside.    
Her eyes rolled up as she felt the tip of Kreacher’s cock against her eager pussy, pushing apart the glistening lips as she started to lower her body onto it. There was a moment of resistance, an instance of trembling tightness and pressure as some sane part of her body finally woke up and realized what she was trying to fit inside herself.    
And then he was inside. It happened all at once, a moment of intense, eye-watering pressure against her hips. A glorious mixture of ache and ecstasy...and then almost all at once she was filled. Stretched. Opened. Impaled on a thick, hot stake of trembling ecstasy. One second she was trembling against the tip, the next it was inches deep inside of her. Deeper than any normal human could have managed.   
Already primed by Kreacher’s fingertips, she was on the verge of orgasm the moment he penetrated her. When the tiny house-elf began to pump his small hips, she was pushed over. Consumed by the waves of pleasure as his cock pressed tightly against every wall of her pussy, it’s rippling veins flickering against the underside of her clit as Kreacher’s ferocious pumping slid his giant cock in and out of her body.    
“F-fuck! Aaah...ooaaah...d-don’t stop! Harder!” She pressed down, trying to fit more of Kreacher into her body as he pumped faster. Like the sun cresting over the horizon, she could feel another orgasm coming...and another...and another. Multiple climaxes blended together but she was still struggling, pushing to try and get more of that huge cock inside, her pussy hungry to swallow it whole.   
As her pussy strained against the girth of Kreacher’s cock, she felt pressure building behind her eyes and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She bit her lip, rocking her hips wildly as she reached the limit of her body, barely half-way down the fat, vein-riddled cock.    
She leaned over Kreacher, lowering her head for another kiss, another joining of tongues as she felt aftershocks of pleasure rolling over her. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more.    
Leaning on one hand, she reached the other down, reaching behind her sweat-dappled ass and down to the still-swollen blue testicles jiggling at the base of Kreacher’s cock. Her fingers cupped them gently as she rocked back and forth above Kreacher’s body, still unable to take his entire cock inside.    
“Kreacher...Kreacher thinks...this isn’t bad...for a mud-blood. Of course, this is all Kreacher’s worthless mistress can take.” The house-elf hissed, gasping as Hermione pressed him to the ground from the pressure on his cock, pinning him in place like a butterfly.    
“F-fuuuuck you, Kreacher.” Hermione gasped, willing her body to relax, to take everything the little bastard had. “Just s-shut up and come already!”   
With that, she tightened her grip on Kreacher’s balls. Kreacher’s eyes widened, his eyes crossing and pupils dilating until they were just tiny dots, as she mercilessly squeezed his swollen testicles.   
He came like a firehose, the jet of cum hitting the inside of her pussy with enough force to knock the air out of her lungs. Her body shook with another climax, squeezing every last drop from Kreacher’s shaft, sucking it up like a water pump.    
The heat of his cum filling her was noticeable even in the oppressive warmth of the sauna. The spreading warmth filled her, relaxing her muscles even as she felt Kreacher’s cock softening.    
Hermione’s lungs sucked in the hot, humid air as she panted eagerly, releasing Kreacher’s testicles and pushing herself down on his semi-hard shaft. Even half-soft he was thicker and firmer than anything else she had experienced prior to the last half-hour and the deep, glorious ache as she filled herself with him was enough to bring tears to her eyes, biting her lip to keep from crying out as she felt the lips of her pussy brush against the base of his cock.    
The entire thing was inside of her.    
“K-Kreacher…” She gasped, eyelids fluttering as anticipation built inside of her. “ Kreacher, snap...oh fuck...snap your fingers...make it big again.”   
“I-is Mistress sure…?” Kreacher’s eyes snapped from Hermione’s trembling hips up to her flushed, sweat-drenched face. “Kreacher might-”   
“Just...ngh...just do it!” She hissed. “Do it, you...aaah...fucking maggot!”    
Kreacher nodded and raised his fingers again.    
Blue-green magic sparked across his knuckles as he snapped his fingers.    
Layers of old oak floorboards and thick shale wall stood between the two of them and the bustling street of Grimmauld Place. Threaded through the structure were several layers of privacy enchantments, sound-dampening spells and look-away charms designed to ensure that hundreds of Muggles walked and drove by the ancient Black residence every day without ever noticing the decaying structure, let alone hearing what went on inside its walls. A dozen Death Eaters could fling explosive spells and thunder hexes inside and it would go entirely unnoticed out on the streets.    
A young couple walked by the elderly building, eyes slightly fogged as the enchantments on 12 Grimmauld Place went to work, making sure that they saw nothing in it’s darkened windows, and never realized there was any gap between number 11 and number 13. They weren’t even capable of noticing the oddity of the missing number 12 address.    
Despite this, the young woman looked up, clouded eyes slowly blinking.    
“Did you hear something, honey?” She murmured, absently.    
“Probably a bird dear.” Her partner replied just before they passed the property line of 12 Grimmauld place and both immediately forgot the odd sound that they had just, ever-so-faintly, heard.    
The last echoes of Hermione’s voice faded in the bath chamber, where she still knelt over Kreacher’s prone form, her entire body shivering in the throes of unspeakable ecstasy. One, two, four, ten...more? She couldn’t have said how many times she came as Kreacher had swollen inside of her. The climaxes were in such rapid succession that they seemed like one, rolling peal of orgasmic thunder that just went on and on while arcs of pleasure flashed through her mind.    
Kreacher had fared much the same, his body arcing as his whole cock was taken for the first time (despite his bragging to the contrary). He had come almost instantly, only to snap his fingers again, coming once more and then snapping again until he didn’t have the strength left in his aged knuckles.    
Thick, white streaks of cum were splattered on the base of Kreacher’s cock, across Hermione’s inner thighs, across Kreacher’s waist and the floor he lay on. Hermione had been filled to overflowing, the excess squirting out in a hot, sticky wave every time she pulsed with a new orgasm.    
“Fuck...that was...that was…” Hermione’s voice was raw and she barely had the strength to keep her eyelids open. It felt like her entire body had been forced through a wringer, leaving her limbs as limp and weak as boiled pasta.    
One of Kreacher’s saw-blade snores broke the silence. Blearily, she looked down to see the house-elf had collapsed back onto the floor, his cock still half-inside her body. He was fast asleep, his snores rattling against the damp tiles.    
With incredible effort, Hermione pulled herself up, shivering as she felt Kreacher slide out of her. More cum came with it, dribbling along the inside of her legs as the fat tip of his cock pulled free with an audible  _pop_ , like the cork being pulled from champagne.    
Exhausted, she allowed herself to lean back, slipping into the warm embrace of the steam-bath once more. Laying on her back, she drifted there...letting the steaming water soak into her aching muscles and letting the thin streamers of Kreacher’s jizz dissolve in the hot water.    
“Well…” Tilting her head slightly, she looked over at Kreacher’s snoozing form. “I hope you enjoyed that, you rat-faced git...it’s the only...the last time, do you hear?”    
_Never again._ She swore, thinking about how crazy what she had just done was.  _Never going to touch a thing like Kreacher again and that is final._   
  


***************

  
  
The next evening, the smoldering embers in the hearth of 12 Grimmauld Place’s kitchen sparked and flared to life. The flames flickered, shifting from a cheery red-orange to a roaring column of green fire that lapped at the grate of the fireplace.    
With a puff of ash and green smoke, Ron Weasley burst into the kitchen. He quickly moved out of the way, allowing the second traveler to step into the room: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.    
Both young wizards dusted ash and soot from their clothes, looking around the kitchen. Ron noted, with some surprise, that Kreacher’s nook in the kitchen cupboard had been filled with clean, white sheets rather than the ratty old linens he usually slept on. The house-elf himself was nowhere to be seen.    
“Been a while, hasn’t it,” Harry muttered, looking apprehensive. His friend’s words distracted Ron from his previous trail of thought and the young ginger lad nodded in agreement.    
“Yeah...I’m probably not going to hear the end of it for quite a while, am I?”    
“We definitely owe Hermione an apology...but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Once she hears the news about Gryffindor’s sword then she’ll forget all about the recent unpleasantness.”   
“Probably.” Ron wasn’t so sure, but he did have hope that he might still have a girlfriend after all this. After all, everyone had been under a lot of stress in the past few weeks. Surely she’d understand.    
Surely.    
“The sooner we get it over with, the better,” Harry reassured him, sensing some of Ron’s disquiet. “It’s like ripping off a band-aid.”    
“What’s a band-aid?”   
Harry shook his head slightly, reminding himself that Ron had grown up in a wizarding family and similes rarely translated well between the Muggle and wizarding world. One of the reasons he had missed Hermione these past few weeks. She at least knew what band-aids were and didn’t think type-writers were operated by tiny imps working the mechanisms.    
“Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s go find her. The sooner we apologize, the sooner we can move past this, right?”    
“Right. And maybe once we defeat You-Know-Who, then I bet all this will be forgotten. It’ll be just like a bad dream.”   
“Yeah.” Harry headed for the stairs, shoes clopping on the old stone, changing to the sound of creaking floorboards as he came up to the first floor. He heaved a small sigh of relief at the sight of Walburga Black’s portrait tightly covered in canvas and wrapped in a heavy rope. The last thing they needed was to set off that old bag of awful pigments.    
The first place they checked was the library on the first floor. Hermione had definitely been there: the sitting tables were piled high with books and several cups of mostly-drunk tea sat nearby. But there was no sign of her now.    
Then they moved up to the third floor, where most of the guest bedrooms were located in 12 Grimmauld place. These were the rooms where most of the Order of the Phoenix had chosen to bed down while sheltering there.    
Nothing. One of the bedrooms was certainly full of her books and her clothes...but no sign of Hermione herself. With growing concern, they moved up to the fourth floor, checking on the old bedroom occupied by Sirius Black...no sign of Hermione.    
“Maybe...maybe she popped out to buy some supplies?” Ron suggested, nervously.    
“She’d know that was too dangerous.” Harry shook his head. “Besides, there were months of provisions here. Not to mention all the supplies she keeps in the hide-away inside her bag.”   
As they trudged back down the stairs, it was Ron who that the large door leading to the master bedroom was slightly ajar, letting a thin sliver of candlelight through. They hadn’t even bothered to check it, knowing how Kreacher reacted to anyone trying to sleep in Walburga’s old bed. Even when Order of the Phoenix members were sleeping two to a bed, they hadn’t dared intrude on the master bedroom for fear of being targeted by Kreacher’s hateful pranks.    
The two shared a look of confusion.    
“Well...she does own him, doesn’t she?” Ron shrugged.   
“Trust me, owning Kreacher doesn’t mean he won’t treat you like garbage,” Harry muttered. He felt a pang of guilt at foisting the nasty little goblin off on Hermione. But then again, she was the one going on and on and on about being nice to house-elves and freeing them.   
“Well, where else could she be?” Ron countered.    
Harry didn’t have an answer to that.    
“Hermione, it’s Ron and Harry. We just wanted to say sorry.” Ron called out as he pushed on the doorway. With a creak of aged wood, the two of them pushed open the door to the master bedroom. Before it opened completely it occurred to Ron that they should have knocked. “Sorry for barging in, I hope you’re decent and…”   
His mouth dropped open as he pushed his way into the room. Harry followed quickly behind before stumbling into Ron’s rigid back.    
“Hey, what’s the big ide--”   
Harry’s voice died on his lips, his eyes widening and his mouth joining Ron’s   
Muted by the silence-spells on the house, they hadn’t heard the rough, violent squeaking of the giant bed’s springs. Nor the ragged panting, intermixed with groans and moans of pleasure.    
On the bed, Hermione crouched on all fours, her frizzy brown hair framing a face that was beaded with sweat and flushed with exertion. She was naked, her full breasts buried in the bedsheets as she raised her tight, round ass into the air.    
Clinging to her ass, his own skinny body not even touching the ground, was Kreacher. The house-elf’s enormous cock was filling her pussy and it’s shaft glistened as the house-elf desperately pumped his bony little ass over and over again like a miniature jackhammer. Hermione’s fists bunched in the bedsheets as Kreacher vigorously fucked her from behind. Neither seemed to notice the two young wizards entering the room.    
“Fuck me harder! Do it, you hear me?” Hermione gasped, poking her ass higher into the air in a desperate attempt to force Kreacher further inside her. “I said fuck me you limp-wanded piece of troll shit!”    
“Blast-ended skank!” Kreacher snarled. “Kreacher would fuck harder if Kreacher didn’t have to listen to his mud-slut mistress constantly whining!”    
There was a loud thump as Ron fell backwards to the floor, fainting dead away in shock. Even in unconsciousness, his face was fixed into a rictus expression of surprise. For his part, Harry simply stared, hypnotized by the sight of Kreacher’s huge testicles slapping against Hermione’s bare thighs, a small tent forming in his pants. 


End file.
